When
by Glowbug9379
Summary: Peyton and Jake. They see more in each other than what they let on.


When she smiles at him all he can think is that it could be beautiful, if only it were real. But it's never real with her. He knows not to expect honesty on the surface because she won't give it up that easily. She's the girl who hides it best to the world and to herself. Only her eyes tell the truth, and he always looks her in the eye when he talks to her.  
  
When he throws in a subtle one-liner that isn't meant for anyone to hear, she hears it. She listens and can't help but smile, even if it is a little forced. Somehow around him it seems less contrived and she feels more like a real person than the embodiment of something she's supposed to be. A part of her thinks that he does it for her benefit, because she can always catch him looking at her to read her reaction, and so she smiles to appease him. Except he never seems sated.  
  
When she yanks on her hair in frustration he wants to pull her hand back and run his own hands through it, the way she deserves. He's not certain but it's palpable, the idea that she's never felt someone run his fingers through her hair. He'd love to be the one but she'll always keep him just out of reach, far enough to where the distance seems minuscule but impossible.  
  
When he acts as a mediator to whatever stupid argument is going on, she wants to be irritated with him because it's not as if he's really part of the circle. But she can't find it in her to be angry, not when he shrugs it off as nothing but concern. She then wonders why it is that he's not part of the circle. It isn't as if he's never been invited, he's always invited and sometimes he's actually there. Only he always seems so far-off, as if there's something else occupying his mind. And it usually gets to the point that whatever it is becomes an excuse for his leaving.  
  
When she's driving recklessly down his street, he winces at the squeal of the tires. He muses over whether she realizes it's even his street and decides that she probably doesn't, otherwise she might avoid it. He knows the things that hurt her to the point of exhaustion, that somehow that screeching sound is comfort for her. Her car is the only thing she has any control over, the only thing she can still afford to fuck up. And so she tries, dutifully and unsuccessfully because some part of her is still afraid of letting go completely.  
  
When his silhouette appears in the window and peeks out, she pretends not to notice. She keeps her eyes on the road and drives herself into the unknown. She goes past his street, his house, all the time and can't find it in her to stop by. It seems too out of bounds to invade his privacy uninvited. She knows that he is hiding something, and hopes that he can trust her enough to confide in her some time. That won't happen, however, because that would require her to do the same for him and she knows she cannot.  
  
When her words cut sharply into his, he can't help but be hurt. Even if it's not directed towards him, even if it is a defense method, it stings. She shouldn't have to be defensive around him, but he knows she is and she always will be. That doesn't help him forgive it, but he's never really blaming her. Sometimes he calls her on it and she looks surprised, but she always recovers. It's what she's good at.  
  
When he figures out exactly what is bothering her without ever asking a single question, she is agitated with him. More than that, she's bothered by him. He does it so quickly and thoughtlessly that she doesn't know what to make of it at first. And even after it registers she keeps wondering how the hell he can manage to read her so well, because nobody ever has. It's easy for her to compose herself and snap back, but she never really means it. She only does it because she's scared. She does it because it's the only way she knows how.  
  
When she finally kisses him he has to steady himself. He never expects it because it's a testament to truth, and that's not how he knows her. That, compiled with the fact that she now knows his biggest fear, his well-kept secret, and is kissing him anyway confuses him. He steadies himself because it's unexpected, and he steadies himself because it's what he's been waiting for, for much longer than he can remember.  
  
When he finally kisses her back she feels a sense of relief because she was sure she would be pushed away. She's used to being pushed away and she's used to doing the pushing, somehow always ending up in a corner. Only she acts on an impulse without thinking and without her walls, giving into him completely for just a second. It's useless acting on her fronts because he doesn't buy them. He knows her, weaknesses and bruises and all and he still wants her. Almost as much as she wants him, she thinks. She leans into him because she's never depended on anything or anyone and wants to know what it feels like. And he nearly falls, for whatever reason but he catches her and braces himself. When he finally kisses her back, the world is still. 


End file.
